


A Peony for Your Thoughts

by ughfitz (wokemeup)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Almost as sweet as an actual baked good, Bakery AU, F/M, Florist AU, Fluff, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 17:33:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11628459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wokemeup/pseuds/ughfitz
Summary: Jemma Simmons, an unexpected florist, finds herself in need of a good cup of tea and perhaps one sweet. Lucky for her, the shop next door just happens to be the local bakery run by a man with a penchant for whipping up an excellent raspberry scone!A Florist/Baker AU (And alternatively titled: All You Knead is Love)





	A Peony for Your Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> I am _forever _grateful to[consoledacup](http://consoledacup.tumblr.com/) for being the best beta ever! She took on the extra work of editing a completely rough (rough, rough, rough, rough...and did I mention rough?) draft of this *curse you google docs for not saving my own edits*! Seriously, I cannot thank Janelle enough, I am forever indebted to her!__
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> _Anyway, enjoy this super sweet AU (my first writing venture in several months)!_  
>  _

When Fran passed away, Jemma was heartbroken. The sweet lady who had lived in apartment 2C, next to her 2B, always made sure to say “hello”, had the best selection of tea and cakes, and was undoubtedly the best florist in the entire town. Suffice it to say, Jemma was bewildered when exactly one week after her neighbor’s passing, Fran’s lawyer knocked on her door and informed her that she was now the lucky owner of Fran’s Flowers, the local flower shop. 

In fact, she spent nearly half the day arguing with the lawyer that she did not have a single bone in her body capable of keeping a plant alive (she’d somehow managed to kill even the simple cactus given to her by one particularly prickly ex), and she was definitely not the person to take charge of Fran’s beloved shop. Despite her best arguments, she still found herself standing outside of the quaint little space, key in hand, debating whether or not to actually go into the store  – her store. 

This was not how she had expected her move across the country to unfold. Just her luck, though, that the cosmos seemed to have other plans in mind for her. 

Bouncing nervously from side to side, a war waged on inside of her head as Jemma looked to the shop next door and decided that a cup of tea (and perhaps one sweet) would do her nerves some good. Moving down the sidewalk, she stepped into Brenda’s Bakery  – the town had a knack for simple shop names  – and headed towards the counter. 

The bakery was tiny, much like the rest of the places in the quiet, small town, but it was warm, inviting, and smelled like home. It was, Jemma thought, the perfect escape from her new adventure.

Looking around, she spotted a glass case encompassing a wide array of rolls, several sandwiches, and two elegantly decorated cakes. Behind the case, a teapot spouted an angry stream of steam, and yet everything else in the store remained still. She saw no other customers, and there appeared to be no one running the shop. Uncertain of what to do, Jemma prepared herself to leave the store (both her stomach and nerves were disappointed with the turn in events) when a curly mop of hair popped out from behind the swinging doors, causing both the owner of said head and Jemma to let out equally embarrassingly loud screams. 

Heart pounding, Jemma leaned heavily onto the counter. She blushed profusely the moment she looked into the incredibly blue eyes of the man who had nearly given her a heart attack. They both quickly looked away. 

“What…” he gasped. “Are you doing in here?!” 

Floundering for words, she pointed to the little muffin hanging near the entrance that clearly indicated an open shop.

“Daisy!” the man mumbled as though that was the perfect explanation for their current state. 

“Pardon?” Jemma asked.

“‘M sorry,” he replied, his face squinting in an adorably frustrated manner. “Daisy, the afternoon shift employee, must’ve forgotten to turn the sign around… again. We’re actually not open until nine, so you’re about – ” He looked down at the battered watch on his wrist before concluding, “ – ten minutes early.” 

“Oh!” was her brilliant reply. 

It was silent, the awkward kind of silence, when the man finally stopped fiddling with the bowl he was holding and looked up at Jemma. Despite all the commotion, his extensive explanation, and the thirty seconds of sheer unease, he had only briefly glanced at her. His own face sprouted a blush that rivaled Jemma’s, the bowl he had been holding suddenly slipped from his hands and fell to the floor with an impressive mushroom cloud of what Jemma assumed was flour. 

Stifling a laugh at the man’s groan, Jemma quickly rushed around the counter to help him clean up the mess. 

“No, no, it’s not a big deal, really. Honestly surprised it didn’t happen sooner, bloody klutz that I am,” he said quickly.

“Really,” she replied. “I don’t mind helping. Besides, I  _ am  _ ten minutes early. The least I could do is help you out!” 

Blushing once more, he scooted over, allowing Jemma some space, and the two quiety and quickly cleaned up the mess. 

Precisely eight minutes later when Brenda’s Bakery was officially open, Jemma sat at one of the little tables in the shop, a tea in one hand and a perfect raspberry scone in front of her. She failed miserably at hiding her smile behind her cup as the man, “Fitz”, she learned, tried to unsuccessfully arrange a basket of muffins, nearly dropping half of them instead.

The tea was perfect, just the right amount of milk and sugar, and the scone was the best she had ever had. It was quite honestly the most fitting thing to distract her from the impending doom right next door.

And she continued being happily distracted for the next thirty minutes before a woman rushed into the bakery and cried out to no one in particular, “Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me, but does anyone know where Fran is? Why is her shop closed?! I’ve been trying to get ahold of her for nearly a week now but haven’t heard from her!”

Feeling the knot of nerves return to her stomach, Jemma placed her cup back down and brushed the crumbs away, prepared to deliver the bad news, when Fitz turned towards the woman with a sympathetic look.

“Did no one tell you? Fran passed last week. Afraid the shop’s closed.”

“What?!” the woman all but shrieked. “But my wedding is next week, and Fran promised she’d have the lily bouquets ready by today! Oh no, this is a disaster, a complete disaster. The wedding is ruined now. I don’t see how this can be fixed,” she wailed.  

Closing her eyes briefly, Jemma stood up and approached the woman. “Excuse me, miss, but I’m actually,” she paused as reality finally hit her. “I’m the new owner. Why don’t we head over there and see if we can sort out this mess?” Helping the now weeping woman out of the store, Jemma glanced back one last time into the bakery at a surprised-looking Fitz. Shrugging apologetically, she took a final deep breath before moving forward with her newfound client.

\---

Flowers, Jemma found out, were not just tricky to arrange, but they were also incredibly difficult to please bridezillas, they left quite the mess, and they were an absolute thorn in her side. The disaster of a day began when she escorted the uppity bride to the store and found that it reeked of decaying inventory and a strong scent of something akin to wet dog. Clearly, Fran had been the only one maintaining Fran’s Flowers, and since her passing, no one had been around to upkeep the normally pristine facility. 

The bright spot of the day had been after two hours of searching (with a nagging bride to boot) when Jemma finally located the precious lilies and sent the woman on her way. That highlight, however, did not last long as customer after customer came in. Some walked in, simply expressing their condolences, but the large majority impatiently demanded their orders of meticulously arranged  bouquets. 

Finally, after the front door was locked, the open sign was flipped around, and the last rotten stem had been swept away, Jemma sunk to the floor and blew one of the many strands of fallen hair away from her face. 

Flowers were not her thing. 

Lost in the floral haze, Jemma shreaked, yet again, when a knock came from the front door. Once her heart slowed, Jemma groaned and pushed herself up. 

“We’re closed!” she called out to the front. 

_ Honestly, could people not read the sign? _

“Oh, um, it’s, um, it’s... uh... me, Fitz. Fitz from Brenda’s Bakery. Brenda’s Bakery next door!” he squawked out, his accent making his ramblings even more incoherent.

Despite the tiredness that seemed to seep into every bone in her body, Jemma found herself smiling as she moved over to open the door. 

Pushing it open, she smiled when she saw what was in front of her. Fitz, his hair still in a unruly mess of curls (if possible, they seemed even more mused than this morning), a basket of something delicious smelling in one hand, and a thermos in the other. Smiling slightly, he shrugged his shoulders and said, “Figured you could use something after the day you had? I know I’d be dead on my feet if I skipped a meal.”

Jemma realized that she had indeed skipped out on lunch, and right on cue, her stomach rumbled loudly. Flushing slightly, she opened the door a little further and let Fitz in, leading the two of them to the little office in the back of the shop.

“That’s very kind of you. You didn’t have to do that,” she replied.

“Not a big deal,” he shrugged. “I know the feeling of being overwhelmed, and I also know that tea and food, at least for me, usually help ease things a bit.”

Nodding her head in agreement, Jemma cleared some space on the small office desk, and the two sat down to munch on their treats. 

Even though she had been fighting exhaustion just a minute ago, she had never felt more awake than she did in the nearly four hours she and Fitz spent chatting away.

During their long conversation (one which, much to her relief, had no pauses, awkward or otherwise), she learned that, like her, Fitz had inherited his shop after his mum had passed away nearly two years prior. When he had begun, he knew next to nothing about baking. His expertise in flour rivaled her own flower knowledge. Despite the difficulties in dealing not only with the death of his mother (they were obviously very close to one another) but a new business as well, Fitz found that he actually preferred the life of a bakeshop owner than that of an engineer. He had never realized how lonely and bored he had been back at his old job until he had moved to the small town and began baking. 

She also learned that despite his two years at Brenda’s Bakery, he still had yet to master the perfect  soufflé , and his favorite thing to bake was his mother’s famed recipe for raspberry scones: the same ones she had enjoyed earlier that morning. 

Daisy, his employee, had helped him with all of the recipes, was great with the customers, and was also a client of Fran’s (she was getting married next month, and according to Fitz, despite her name, there would be  _ no _ daisies at said wedding). 

The two talked and talked, and the conversation never stalled. Even when the tea became lukewarm, and the sweets had long since been eaten, they continued on as though they had known one another for years. 

They looked up at the clock in the corner of the room and realized how late it was (and how early the both of them had to be up the next morning) and regretfully began to clean up their small mess and headed for the exit.

Disappointed that their conversation would have to end, they agreed to meet early the next morning, so that they could spend a few minutes chatting over fresh out-of-the-oven baked goods and two cups of tea (Jemma even promised to bring over some daisies, her own way of thanking the infamous employee for training Fitz to be such an excellent baker). 

And that was how most mornings in the quaint little town went. Jemma would arrive at precisely 8:30 a.m., always making sure to flip the muffin sign to “closed” before enjoying her breakfast as Fitz kneaded out dough or whisked a bowl of something or other. And despite her efforts in trying to pay, Fitz refused. Instead, Jemma promised to decorate the bakery with fresh flowers each day.

Slowly, Jemma learned how to arrange flowers in just the right way, deal with the prickly clients, and over time, she even managed to teach Fitz how to master the  soufflé (her background in chemistry, as it turned out, proved to be quite useful in tackling tricky recipes). The two shops bloomed with success with a flourishing friendship in the mix, and their little routine was perfect in every way possible.

Until one day, it wasn’t.

One morning, at 8:30 a.m., Jemma prepared to bounce into her favorite bakery but was met with a locked door. Alarmed at the change in routine, Jemma double-checked her watch to ensure that she was on time: 8:31 a.m. She was technically late, not early. Looking around and seeing no signs of an open shop, Jemma glumly walked over to her own store and ran through her opening routine. Continuing to glance at the Brenda’s Bakery sign, she sighed when at 8:55 a.m., five minutes ‘til open, the store still showed no signs of life. Finally, at 8:58 a.m., the light flickered on, the muffin sign was flipped, and Daisy, of all people, waved to Jemma from behind the window before leaving to continue her duties. 

Sighing with disappointment at seeing Daisy and not Fitz (not that she minded Daisy, in fact, the girl had become a close friend), Jemma returned to her task at hand, shaking her head after realizing how utterly crazy it was to be  _ so _ disappointed in not seeing Fitz. He was just a friend. It wasn’t like she could go an entire day without seeing him! 

However, disrupting her morning routine was not the only thing Fitz’s lack of appearance had done. Her flowers looked drab, and the customers seemed to thrive off of Jemma’s sour mood. So when she closed up shop for her lunch break and headed towards the bakery, Jemma hoped that her mood would improve with some tea and her favorite sandwich. 

It did not improve. 

When Jemma asked Daisy about Fitz’s whereabouts, the younger woman looked over at Jemma sympathetically and told her that Fitz was on a date and would be out for the day.

Feeling as though she had been punched in the stomach, Jemma nodded and quietly ordered her usual.

Jemma had no right to be disappointed. She knew that. But there she was, utterly crushed at the news. And for the first time in the six months since she had been given the flower shop and had started her daily visits to Fitz’s, Jemma wasn’t able to finish her cup of tea or lunch. 

Quickly paying for her meal and returning to her shop, Jemma spent the rest of her afternoon thinking about Fitz and his date. Was she pretty?  _ Likely _ , Jemma thought. And she probably wore cute summer dresses that fit perfectly with the bakery’s aesthetic. Was Fitz having fun?  _ Hopefully! _ Because despite how disappointed she was, she knew that Fitz deserved to be with someone as amazing as he was.

And the more Jemma thought about said date, the more things made sense. Fitz’s nervous shuffle yesterday as he entered her shop sans treats, asking her for a bouquet of yellow peonies (she had assumed it was for the shop) and his quieter-than-normal mood. All that had seemed odd at the time. She should’ve known. They were typical pre-date jitters. 

Jemma thought that they were close enough friends to tell one another about such life events, like dates, but maybe she was wrong in how their friendship was progressing.

_ Ah, friendship, _ Jemma reminded herself as she found her thoughts venturing into more dangerous topics. Like if Fitz’s date was running her fingers through his incredibly soft locks, or if they were instead locking lips. Because despite the niggle at the back of her mind that teased Jemma with the thought of Fitz and  _ her _ being out on a date, she and Fitz were just friends, and she needed to stop with the silly fantasies. 

Sighing for likely the hundredth time that day, Jemma was relieved to see that it was closing time, and she could finally go home and properly wallow in her misery. Just as she was about to leave, Jemma jumped in surprise when a knock sounded from the front door. 

_ Could the customers really not read the sign? _

“We’re closed!” she called out to the front, her disappointment and tiredness seeping through.

“It’s me,” Fitz called out from the other side. Suddenly nervous, Jemma quickly wiped her palms on her pants and went to open the door.

Jemma glanced at Fitz and tried to put on a genuine smile, while letting him in. 

“Hi, Fitz!” she called out, hoping her voice sounded more normal than it did to her ears.

Smiling back at her, he replied, “Hi, Jemma.”

Awkward silence filled the room.

The first time that had happened since their initial meeting. 

“So, um...” she trailed off. “Erm, howwasyourdate?” she said in a nervous rush.

Doing a double take and scrunching his face in an adorably confused manner, Fitz looked at Jemma and shook his head.

“My date?”

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to know, but Daisy told me about your date this morning. I hope it went well? I take it the peonies were a success?” 

“Daisy!” Fitz muttered as though  _ that _ was the perfect explanation to their suddenly uncomfortable situation. 

“Yes, I’m afraid she spilled the beans!” Jemma shrugged.

“No, no, it’s not a big deal. She didn’t spill anything. Though she  _ did  _ mislead you, I’m afraid.” Placing his hand into his pockets, Fitz shrugged and looked up at her, his blue eyes seemingly bluer than normal. “I, uh, I wasn’t on a date, really. Not  _ that _ kind of date, at least. And the flowers weren’t for my date though they were for someone… someone special.”

Nodding her head as though she understood what he was saying, she waited patiently for him to continue.

“I wasn’t on a date,” he said more firmly. “But I was visiting my mum.” 

It all made sense now. Sighing regretfully (both at her own silly actions and at the thought of how rubbish the day must have been for Fitz), she reached over for Fitz’s hand and squeezed it slightly. “I’m so sorry, Fitz, I didn’t know it was today.”

“It’s okay,” he replied with a kind smile. “It’s still hard, but it gets a little easier each year. And  yeah, the peonies were for her. They were her favorite. Always talked about how they symbolized compassion and how the world could use a little bit more of it. You know, when she started the bakery, she had just had me and every week, she delivered a batch of muffins to the local women’s shelter. Still do that in her honor.” He smiled and stared off into the distance of fond memories. 

“She sounds like a truly wonderful woman. It’s no wonder you’re so amazing,” she smiled, nudging his shoulders playfully. 

Ducking his head and blushing slightly, he nodded. “Yeah, she was the best.”

Taking a deep breath, Jemma turned towards Fitz. “You know, I have to admit, I was acting quite foolishly today.”

“What?!” Fitz mock gasped. “Jemma Simmons acting  _ foolish _ ?”

“Oh, stop,” she teased back. Pausing for a moment, she continued. “You know, when Daisy told me you were on a date, I have to admit I was quite disappointed.” Nervous about her confession, she forced herself to look him straight on. 

“But why?” He asked, clearly confused.

“Fitz, we’re friends, right?” If Jemma noticed the slight dim in Fitz’s eyes at the word “friends”, she ignored it and continued on once he responded with a slight nod.

“Well, you see, I’m in quite the prickly situation here.”

“How so?” he nearly whispered.

“I don’t want to be friends with you.”

“Oh,” came his clearly disappointed reply. 

“I want to be more than that. I only realized that after I thought you were going on a date, all I could think about was how  _ I _ wanted to be the one you were giving peonies to. I realized that it’s not just the excellent cup of tea or perfect scones that I love in the mornings. It’s  _ you _ . You’re the one that makes my mornings better. You’re the one I look forward to seeing each closing time. You’re whom I want to be with. And… and maybe today is not the best day to be confessing this, but maybe… just maybe it is?” She hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath, but once she had said all that she needed to, she exhaled and looked over at Fitz, nervous but hopeful.

She barely had the chance to register the large smile that was plastered on his face before he surged forward and captured her lips in the most incredibly soft and sweet kiss she had ever received (and it wasn’t just sweet because of the lingering sugar, likely from a cookie). 

After a few more soft pecks, the two leaned back with equally blinding smiles on both of their faces. 

“Um,” Fitz began. “I’d like to be more than friends too, in case that wasn’t obvious.”

“It’s settled then,” Jemma replied, her eyes sparkling with excitement at the new turn in events. 

And just for good measure, they leaned in and shared another kiss, one just as sweet (well maybe a little more than sweet) as the first.

\---

_ Two Years Later _

When Fran passed away, Jemma had been heartbroken. Never in her wildest dreams, however, had Jemma imagined the loss of not only a sweet neighbor, but a fantastic florist, would have changed her life for the better.

At precisely 7:30 a.m., Jemma rolled out of the cozy cocoon of blankets and quickly shut off the alarm. She smiled when her eyes landed on the mop of messy curls poking out from the depths of said blankets. 

Reaching her hand over, she mused her hand over the curls before a mumbled “too early” called out from beneath the mound of sheets.

Jemma opted to take ten more minutes to soak in the haze of the morning light and the warmth of Fitz and allowed her thoughts to wander into her upcoming tasks for the day. 

Finally, at 7:40, Jemma pushed herself out of bed and prepared for the day.

At precisely 8:30, Jemma, with Fitz right behind her, walked into the bakery  – the lingering smell of cinnamon and sugar reminded her of home  – flipped the muffin sign from “open” to “closed”, and set her things down. 

As Fitz went about his morning routine, Jemma quietly prepared her cup of tea and pondered whether she was in the mood for a raspberry or blueberry scone.  _ Raspberry,  _ of course. 

Enjoying her breakfast and watching Fitz kneed his way through a bowl of flour, butter, and sugar, she mindlessly scattered notes into her small journal before realizing that it was nearly opening time. Putting her mess away, she walked over to Fitz, gave him a quick kiss, and hollered a “see you for lunch” before walking next door. Open sign visible and green apron on, Jemma smiled as the first customer of the day walked in. 

It had been an excellent morning in the shop, and by the time lunch had rolled around, Jemma was teaming with things she wanted to share with Fitz. Carefully placing the “out for lunch” sign on the door, she walked over to her second favorite place (the apartment she shared with Fitz was her first), waved a hello to Daisy, and moved into Fitz’s small office.

“Peonies!” she exclaimed.

Smiling up at Jemma, though clearly confused, Fitz replied, “I’m sorry?”

Smiling back just as brightly, Jemma chuckled and clarified, “Yellow peonies. I think they would be perfect for my bouquet.”

Nodding in understanding, Fitz pulled Jemma down into his lap. “Sounds perfect, I think my mum would love it.”

Twisting to get a better look at him, Jemma whispered, “She would, wouldn’t she?” Simply kissing her in response, the two enjoyed their moment alone before walking out into the bakery to enjoy a cup of tea and their favorite sandwich. 

The two wed precisely one week later  – yellow peonies made the perfect bouquet  – and they lived sweetly (and happily) ever after. 

Flowers, it turned out, were most  _ definitely _ her thing. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, kudos and comments are appreciated :)
> 
> I'm also on [Tumblr](http://ughfitz.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
